


(like the bough of a willow tree)

by bigsleepy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Grief, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsleepy/pseuds/bigsleepy
Summary: “Maybe closure’s not what I need,” Blue says, at last, her voice steadier, now, as she edges away, her expression solemn, schooled to stillness. She's meeting Piper’s gaze, unflinching, shoulders squared. “Maybe I’m tired of living in the past.”





	(like the bough of a willow tree)

Sanctuary is illuminated only by the silver sheen of moonlight, tonight; the firepit in the center of the cul-de-sac has burned down to cinder-shreds, the fairy-lights festooning the bulk of the main building having long winked out, pinpoints of blue and purple and red extinguished by the encroaching darkness, a thread of acrid smoke still rising from beneath the hood of the generator.

They’re sprawled across the corrugated tin roof of an adjacent shack, trading swallows from a bottle of homebrew; it’s almost noxious, really, with a pungency reminiscent of unripened mutfruit, but there is an intimacy to this, Piper thinks, to their proximity—seated so close together that their shoulders brush, that their legs are nearly entangled—that renders the searing sensation in her throat almost tolerable. Blue, beside her, exhales heavily after every mouthful, her nose streaming, but makes no complaint. The silence between them is companionable enough—no tension to the set of Blue’s shoulders, her eyes half-lidded—but there is a restlessness in Piper’s limbs, a knot of unease in the core of her; perhaps she has simply spent too many years in constant conversation to abide the lack of it, or perhaps it is simply latent Wasteland paranoia surfacing, briefly, to reiterate that silence too often indicates _danger_ , the advent of some disaster.

Blue’s face is angled away, now, her eyes fixed—not upon some imagined point on the horizon, but the window of one of the few remaining pre-war structures, the weatherworn walls striated white and blue, the door hanging slightly ajar, her expression impassive. Piper takes another swallow of beer, wincing surreptitiously, and nudges the other woman’s thigh, offering the bottle in a loose hand. Blue starts, briefly, a belated shudder rippling through her, before accepting it with another soft exhalation, though she does not yet move to drink, fingers playing restlessly over the faded circle of the label.

“Cap for your thoughts?” No expectation in Piper’s gaze; Blue is a singularly private person, and if she does not wish to speak, she will not deign to, cannot be cajoled. She prefers, always, to communicate in broad gestures, in slow, secretive smiles, in gentle, fleeting touches. Silence, on Blue’s part, Piper knows, now, after months of travel, of frenzied firefights and traversing the ruins of the old world, does not indicate _inattention_ , and occasionally she _will_ stir herself to carry a conversation, comment on some interesting piece of detritus, divulge a snippet of some familiar neighborhood’s history, seemingly solely for Piper’s benefit—as if striving to reassure her that all is well.

“I’m all over the place tonight,” Blue says, after a moment more of quiet deliberation, eyes still fixed on that distant window, the single sliver of glass still embedded in its frame, glinting coldly in the light of the moon.

(Piper has seen her enter that building only once, in recent memory; she had paced through each room, methodical as she is in all things, casting her eyes about, as if cataloging the damage, every collapsed shelf, every hairline crack in the plaster, every rift in the roof overhead. She had paused only once, in the room situated towards the very back of the structure, crouching to sift through the debris littering the floor, closing her hand over a tiny, oblong object; a rocket-ship, rendered in perfect miniature, the color worn from it, apparent only in the odd fleck of white and red, a crack bisecting the impression of the porthole. She had straightened, then, sharply, suddenly, and strode past Piper, into the hall, through the door, across the street, where she laid the ship almost tenderly upon the workbench, and, with a hefty hammer, struck it, again and again, until it splintered into innumerable slender shards of plastic.)

“…Do you miss it?” Piper murmurs, edging closer, leaning her shoulder against Blue’s. “The way things were, before?”

Blue blinks at her, sidelong, as if startled, a breath of laughter shivering in her throat. “I miss a lot of things. Hot showers, strawberries, only having to contend with regular-sized insects…”

“Your husband?” It seems the drink has loosened her tongue; spots of color bloom in Piper’s cheeks, unbidden, as Blue pauses, brow creased, regarding her with a kind of incredulity, jaw slack, the bottle still dangling from her right hand, two fingers clamped around the neck. For a single, crystalline moment, stillness, the silence broken only by the unsteady rasp of their breathing, before Blue turns away, making a rough sound, low in her throat, setting the bottle aside with a barely-audible _clink._

“When I came back here, after…well, _after_ ,” she says, voice soft and strained, “I spent the first few days like this. Sitting on a roof, staring through that window, watching for movement, any sign of life. I was convinced that this was all a dream, or maybe some kind of elaborate prank. I kept expecting Nate and the neighbors to waltz out of their houses and have a good, long laugh at my expense. Promised myself I wouldn’t be angry with any of them if they would just _stop hiding_. Codsworth was pleading with me to climb down and get some sleep the entire time, and, finally, I did. Slept for most of a day. Woke up to a radroach trying to eat off the end of my nose, and I knew then that this was the rest of my life.”

“I do miss Nate,” she adds, as Piper shifts closer, reaching to rest a hand against her knee. “But maybe not in the way you’re thinking. He was…he was courteous, and patient, and he never asked anything of me that I wasn’t willing to give. He was good company, when I wanted it. And he loved me. I know that. He told me, every day.” She pauses, here, eyes squinched shut, face contorting in a brief, rictus grimace. “I regret not doing things the right way, giving him the kind of closure he deserved. I’m certain he was disappointed that I never said it back to him, right up until the end. That guilt’s going to stay with me until I hit the end of my trail.”

(Piper is familiar with that guilt, knows well the gnawing, corrosive certainty that something more could have been done, that something more can always be done, that one should have been quicker, more clever, should have avoided detection, should have used gentler words, placated their assailant, provided what was demanded of them, _should have._ And Blue has tried, she knows, to atone; she vanished for several days, earlier in the month, claiming that she needed to attend to some personal business, tie up a loose end, that Piper should remain here, assist the settlers in their efforts to rebuild, defend them from whatever opportunistic scavengers might approach, assuring her, with that easy smile, that she would return.

She had returned to the Vault, Piper knows, to retrieve Nate’s body, to burn or inter it, to lay to rest with it her memories, a modicum of that guilt. But she had forgotten, she confessed, upon her return, that the cryogenic pods had failed, and that his body would no longer be stiff with hoarfroast, perfectly preserved. And, indeed, it had begun to putrefy; myriad vermin had nibbled at his extremities, eaten away the cartilage of his ears and nose, the soft flesh at the base of his throat, rendering him almost unrecognizable, and when Blue had endeavored to take the carcass by the upper arms, drag him across the floor of the vault, into the elevator, they simply disintegrated, discolored skin sloughing off in her hands, staining them with indefinable fluids, the smell cloying, that close, pervasive, permeating every surface. It took her the better part of a day to carry the body, piece by piece, into the open air, dig a shallow grave, pile each fragment of the man that once loved her into it, and the better part of two more to compose herself enough to return to the settlement, expression schooled to stillness, the sleeves of her coat crusted with old blood.

She had cried, that night, under cover of darkness, perhaps assuming that Piper had long since succumbed to slumber; great, heaving, wrenching sobs, the sound almost plaintive. Perhaps Piper should have reached for her, then, taken Blue’s hand in hers, held her through those last, violent aftershocks, carded her fingers through her mussed, sweat-slick hair, murmured soothing, meaningless words. Perhaps it is enough that Blue knows, now, that she need not shoulder the burden of grief alone.)

Blue is leaning into her, now, head resting against Piper’s shoulder, one palm flat against the uneven surface of the roof, her mouth pinched thin, her voice hushed. “I didn’t love Nate, but I didn’t want him to die the way he did.”

“No one deserves that,” Piper murmurs, her hand resting upon Blue’s waist, close enough now that she can feel the heat radiating from her, feel the reverberation of her heart. “And maybe he didn’t get the closure you thought he deserved, but…you can still find yours.”

A murmur of assent, Blue’s face pushed against the hollow of her throat, briefly, one hand fisted against her own thigh, her breaths coming ragged, stilted, hot against Piper’s skin, a tremor running the length of her spine. Her pursuit of the stranger has been noticeably less urgent, over the past few months, her proclamations of vengeance, of her desire to settle score, delivered with less fervor. Perhaps she has grown weary of the chase, of turning over a cold trail, or perhaps the maintenance of the settlements she has constructed in the Minutemen’s name has taken precedence, or perhaps she has, gradually, begun to realize that the pursuit of revenge is ultimately futile, will leave one hollow, adrift, without purpose.

“Maybe closure’s not what I need,” Blue says, at last, her voice steadier, now, as she edges away, her expression solemn, schooled to stillness. She’s meeting Piper’s gaze, unflinching, shoulders squared. “Maybe I’m tired of living in the past.”

She straightens, then, breathless, divested of fear, curving a warm, calloused hand over the ridge of Piper’s shoulder, pulling her forward, into a kiss, impossibly gentle, her lips parted, slightly, her eyes closed. Piper remains still for the briefest of heartbeats, hands wavering at Blue’s waist, before she yields to those soft, searching lips, threading her fingers through that soft scruff of hair, mouth moving slow and sweet, tasting salt and ash and the bitter residue of homebrew froth. She’s panting surreptitiously by the time Blue deigns to pull away, cheeks hot, leaning her forehead against the other woman’s, Blue’s eyes bright, searching Piper’s for—some indication of regret, or approval, as if urging her, for once, to speak.

_Beat,_ and breath, and Piper surges against her, crushing her mouth to Blue’s once more, feeling that latent tension begin to drain from her, bit by bit by bit, relief apparent in the way she clutches at Piper’s back, the rapid thrumming of her pulse, an unvoiced _yes, yes, yes._

Dawn will break, soon, in its slow, inexorable way, and they will turn their backs on Sanctuary again, continue on their leisurely circuit of the Commonwealth, searching for signs of the stranger, lending their assistance to any who ask, leaving new growth in their wake. For now, Piper is content to hold Blue close, face nestled in her hair, Blue’s arms firm around her, the silence unbroken, suffused with an incomparable warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> written for my friend meredith ([ @ouhhoh](https://twitter.com/ouhhoh) on twitter) as a thank-you gift for being the only person in existence who's willing to play fallout 76 with me
> 
> thank you for reading, and i very much hope you enjoyed. <3
> 
> (title from "movement" by hozier)


End file.
